


Sing Along and Steal a Line

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, D/s, Dom!Patrick, Light breathplay, M/M, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom, Restraints, Sub!Pete, nothing heavy, power bottom!Patrick, submissive Pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 08:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: Pete + Patrick + unconventional power dynamics. Patrick wants to try something new, and Pete wants to obey.AKA--Shameless smut that came to me while I was laying in bed thinking about how boring post-surgical recovery is.





	Sing Along and Steal a Line

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! I feel so bad because I haven't updated any of my many stories (don't worry! I haven't forgotten!) But I've been slaving away on my BBB story which of course you won't see until like October. I promise I'm still here and alive, though! Had hip surgery so i'm recovering and this little bundle of nonsense came to me while I was laying here contemplating my ceiling. I had the idea to turn "normal" Dom!Patrick dynamics on its head and...here we are. Hope you enjoy!

  

“I want to try something different.” 

 

Pete looked up from where he was currently engaged in pressing a line of biting kisses up the inside of Patrick’s right thigh and gave him a quizzical look. He had been buzzing all day with fantasies and scenarios for tonight, wondering what they would do. Ever since Patrick had come up behind him as he was making his morning coffee and wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist. He had pressed his morning wood against him in a tantalizing promise and whispered, “ _ Want to play tonight? _ ” Pete had thought about dropping to his knees and begging right then and there that they play  _ now _ , but had pushed it down as his skin tingled with the anticipation. He had just taken a deep breath through his nose and nodded, murmuring  _ yes, Patrick. _

 

He had buzzed all day thinking about what they would do, aching for the feel of the soft leather collar they had for him when they played. By six o’clock, he was half-sunken into the boneless idea of  _ being good _ for his Patrick, because he knew part of that was not asking, not badgering Patrick about if it was later yet. He had gotten a smile and a whispered  _ ready?  _ at eight thirty and had nearly thrown Patrick over his shoulder and carried him to the bedroom in his excitement. But after Patrick told him to strip and fastened the collar around his neck, he had merely undressed himself and laid back on the bed. Pete had stood, unsure what he was supposed to do and simply watched, until Patrick crooked a finger and murmured a soft  _ come make me feel good. _ Nearly stumbling over his feet, Pete had done  _ just that _ with relish, kissing Patrick and touching, stroking and biting, sucking and licking. 

 

One of their rules was that Pete was always allowed to ask questions, to talk and be as loud as he wanted. He rolled Patrick’s statement around in his head, and crooked his head. “Different how, Patrick?” He had wanted to call him  _ Sir  _ or  _ Master  _ in the beginning _ ,  _ but Patrick had shuddered and vehemently argued against it. They had settled on just  _ Patrick _ , and he knew that his boyfriend got off on hearing his name said with such reverence, so he thought it had been a good compromise.

 

“Go get the velcro handcuffs for me.” Patrick had answered in reply, and Pete scrambled off the bed on shaky legs to obey, his cock hard and jutting away from his body obscenely. He came back to see Patrick lazily stroking himself, lube and a condom on the bed next to him. Pete’s mouth watered as he saw it--the condom meant Patrick wanted to draw it out, to make it  _ last _ and those were always the good scenes. The ones that left Pete sore and aching for  _ days  _ and loving every second of it. He held out the handcuffs and Patrick shook his head. “Put them on me.” 

 

“What?” Pete’s breath left him in a gasp. This was--but  _ he _ was the submissive one,  _ he _ was the one who liked to be tied down and given over to Patrick’s mercy. But Patrick only nodded, steel in his eyes and Pete couldn’t help but obey. “Yes, Patrick.” 

 

“Good boy.” A spike of heat went through his spine at the praise and he fastened the velcro handcuffs carefully around the pale wrists he loved more than anything and sat back. Patrick shook his head. “Now fasten me to the headboard.” Eyes widening, Pete obeyed--the cuffs were the kind that had a thick band of velcro between them, so he could wrap the strap around the bed frame and both hands were held fast, no sliding chains or give. He looked down and couldn’t help but groan at how hot Patrick looked, seemingly vulnerable but with a smug look on his face that left no question in either of their minds that he was still very much in charge. “Now, I want you to kneel over me and let me suck you.” Patrick said each word precisely, like each one was a piece of paper clipped away and falling to the floor. Pete was sure his jaw was about to unhinge as he felt his mouth drop open, but he obeyed. With care he straddled Patrick’s body, leaning forward to rest his weight against the headboard, just above his restrained hands. 

 

“What do you--” He gasped as he looked down, the sight overwhelming his mind with the  _ wrongness _ of Patrick tied up beneath him...yet he could feel the weight of the collar against his throat. That meant he was Patrick’s. 

 

“Lean forward, so I can reach. But you aren’t allowed to move...stay still or I’ll stop.” Patrick’s voice was firm, full of power that made Pete feel like he could ooze down into a puddle if he was allowed to. But then it softened, and Patrick looked up at him with suddenly kind eyes. “I know this is different, but you can still safeword out anytime, okay?” Pete nodded, and the steel was back in his voice. “Say it, Pete.”

 

“Yes, Patrick. I’ll safeword if I need to, I promise.” 

 

“Good.” The smugness was back on Patrick’s face, and  _ God _ if Pete didn’t love it. “Now, lean forward.” Pete did as he was told until his cock was brushing Patrick’s lips and then froze at the whispered command. Patrick lifted his neck and slurped the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking it down and away from his body and it took everything in Pete to not thrust forward into that perfect wet heat. But he stayed still, moaning a muffled curse as Patrick swirled his tongue around his head in the most exquisite motion. He went on for what seemed like hours, until he dropped his head back to the pillow and grinned. “Good boy, Pete.” Looking down, Pete saw the reddened state of his lips, glistening with spit and his own precome and he just wanted to  _ die _ . 

 

“Can I kiss you? Please, Patrick.” He could hear the raw need in his own voice and didn’t care, because Patrick nodded and he was sliding down, crouching over him and kissing those lips like he needed a breath and the only way was to steal it from Patrick’s lungs. 

 

After a battle of teeth and tongue and bites and gasps, Pete pulled away and Patrick grinned at him. “Get off me.” Pete scampered to obey, wondering if he had done something wrong. But Patrick’s smile stayed as he bent his knees, bringing his feet up to rest on the bed and putting himself on display. Pete thought for an instant how much he loved this--how much he loved Patrick feeling comfortable with himself, with his body. He had never cared how much his boyfriend weighed--more Patrick was never a bad thing in his opinion. But while sometimes he missed the extra give in his flesh, he  _ loved _ how his slimmer self had made Patrick feel confident, like he had finally started to believe what Pete had been telling him all along. The curve of his thighs called to Pete still, and he felt his eyes widen when Patrick ordered, “Now, open me up.” 

 

_ This  _ was new indeed. “Huh?” He gasped, and Patrick’s eyebrows lowered a bit in warning. 

  
  
“You heard me. Open me up. Make it good.” 

 

Pete fumbled for the lube, coating his fingers and gently circling Patrick’s hole the way he knew he liked. His only response was a hitch in his breath, and he slowly worked a finger inside. Patrick clenched around him, and Pete couldn’t hold back a moan of his own as he eased a second one in a few moments later. The clench of his body around his fingers was tight and hot and everything  _ amazing _ . He wondered distantly what Patrick was going to make him do, if he would make him work a plug inside and then let Pete ride him. The thought made his fingers stutter inside Patrick as he softly caressed his prostate. Patrick didn’t cry out, just bore down against his fingers and gasped, mouth wet and open and  _ tempting _ , hips working smoothly. 

 

“Take them out.” Pete did as he was told and sat back, chest heaving as he clenched his fists at his sides as he openly stared at the tableaux in front of him. Patrick was flushed, a slight sheen of sweat coating his body as his cock lay blood-dark against the gentle curve of his stomach, a string of precome already leaking from his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown as he looked up and with just the barest hint of arousal present next to the dominance in his voice and commanded, “Now, put the condom on and fuck me.” 

 

For the second time, Pete’s jaw dropped open, and he couldn’t help the way his hand flew to his collar. Patrick had  _ always _ topped when they played, it was something Pete loved--the feeling of being  _ owned _ , of being plumbed inside and out by the man he trusted more than anything. His mind felt like it was somersaulting through questions of  _ why the condom _ and  _ why won’t he fuck me _ and  _ did I do something wrong? _

 

Patrick’s eyes narrowed and he gave Pete a look. “The condom is so you can last, because you’re giving  _ me _ what  _ I  _ want. Unless you don’t think you need it?” 

 

Biting his lip, Pete considered. He’d never topped Patrick in a scene before, and he was already only three sheets away from coming himself just at the sight. But he knew deep down that he  _ wanted _ this. He wanted to be  _ good _ , and while his chest tightened at the thought of Patrick giving him a way out, a way to make it easier, that wasn’t what he wanted. He met his boyfriend’s eyes and shook his head. “I can do it.” 

 

“Good boy.” Patrick’s voice was velvet and ice, but it curled around Pete like a heated blanket and made him feel like he was glowing from the approval. He slicked himself up obediently and lined up, eyes flicking up to Patrick. He nodded once, wrapping his legs around Pete’s waist and Pete groaned as he pushed inside, slowly, slowly until he had bottomed out, his hips pressed against Patrick’s ass. He waited as Patrick adjusted, not moving even as every nerve in his body screamed at him to  _ thrust _ . But then Patrick’s eyes opened, and he nodded. “Fuck me. You know how.” Pete pulled out a few inches and Patrick finally moaned, low and deep. “But you can’t come until I say.” He gritted out between thrusts, and Pete nodded, gasping out a muffled  _ yes Patrick _ as he started to go harder, building up slowly just like Patrick liked. He got his hands under Patrick’s legs and he could feel the way he tensed up as he hit his prostate at the new angle. 

 

Usually just as willing to be vocal in bed as Pete was, Patrick was uncharacteristically quiet, but something about that made it even hotter. His arms were shaking in the bonds as he moaned, gasping out open-mouthed and panting and Pete felt like he was going to  _ die. _ “Fuck, Patrick,  _ fuck _ ,” was all he could think to say, and then Patrick opened his eyes and fastened them on Pete with surprising force.

 

“Undo one of my hands.” Pete scrambled to obey while still moving inside Patrick, and he had to try twice before his shaking hands could grip the velcro hard enough to free his left hand. But then it was free and it shot up and wrapped around Pete’s collar, keeping him close to Patrick’s face, where he was an incongruous picture of authority and desire, face flushed but eyes steely as he ordered. “Make me come, Pete. Now.” Then his free hand tightened around the collar at the of his neck, choking him ever so carefully. Pete never could understand how Patrick could be so controlled, so precise. How he could be chasing his own completion and yet still know the exact amount of pressure to make Pete’s breath rasp so delightfully through his throat and yet not make him pass out. 

 

But Pete  _ obeyed.  _ He pounded into Patrick, the new angle with his body bent causing him to stroke his prostate on every thrust, and his face was just starting to feel the very beginning of the tingles when Patrick threw his head back and came with a shout, hand loosening on Pete’s collar to bury into his hair and pull at the roots with a sharpness that made him feel like everything was narrowing down to the sound of Patrick, the feel of Patrick, the salient ache of his scalp battering against the thick coil of pleasure in his gut that was begging to be released. Yet he held on, because Patrick hadn’t said he could come yet, and so he just pressed against him, cock buried deep, thrusting without pulling out the way he knew Patrick liked, milking the pleasure from him even as his own fizzled through his nerves like trapped lightning. 

 

“Good...boy.” Patrick gasped, his hand untangling from Pete’s hair to wrap once again around the back of the collar, tightening it against his windpipe. “Keep moving.” He ordered, and Pete obeyed, his eyes feeling like they were going to fall from his head from how wide his lids were stretched, trying to hold it back and see it all at once as his breath left his lungs with a huff that he couldn’t replace. “You want to come?” 

 

“ _ Yes  _ Patrick.” He felt like he was screaming and sobbing and laughing all at once, and he didn’t know if he was doing any of those things or none of them. Once again it all narrowed down to Patrick’s hand still in the cuff, limp and boneless but still  _ restrained _ , the love in his eyes mingled with the steel, and the way his collar-- _ Patrick’s collar _ \--was tight around his throat, the last vestiges of air burning through his lungs. “ _ Please.”  _

 

Lips quirking in an iron smile, Patrick nodded, back arching with overstimulation as his hand released the collar and sweet, pure oxygen flooded Pete’s body. “Now, Pete.” 

 

It was like someone had slapped him in the face, pressed a taser to his spine, and punched him in the gut all at once. His whole body felt like the electricity that had been pounding in a relentless circuit of restraint was suddenly released as he thrust a final time and came, crying Patrick’s name like it was his salvation and his sentence all at once. 

 

He felt like he was floating, his body tumbling down to the bed like all his bones had suddenly broken free of their joints. Distantly he heard the ripping sound of velcro, but it was almost drowned out by the roaring of blood in his head, the way his own breath sounded rushing into his lungs in great gasps. But then Patrick’s hands were there, stroking over his face, his neck, soothing the chafed skin below the collar. He was whispering endearments, soft praise of  _ you were so good, baby, I’m so proud of you _ and  _ my good boy, always so good for me  _ and  _ my Pete, so perfect and all mine.  _ His lips were pressing soft, sweet kisses to Pete’s cheeks, his eyelids, his lips, and Pete just sighed happily, floating. Gentle hands wiped them both clean and the world behind his eyelids changed color as the light was turned off. Patrick pulled him close, tugging the covers out from under him and then pulling them up over his shuddering body. Pete found the strength to whine as Patrick unbuckled the collar from his neck, but he was shushed firmly but kindly--wet, open-mouthed kisses were pressed to the aching emptiness where the collar had been. 

 

“You with me, baby?” Gone was the steel and the fire and the iron, replaced with the most achingly beautiful love that Pete had ever heard and was _all_ _for him_. “Pete, open your eyes.” It was so hard to obey and Pete wondered at the unfairness even as he forced them open, still wrapped in the comforting habit of obedience even though he knew the scene was done. Patrick’s eyes were a watery blue in the darkness of their room, and the smile he gave Pete was worth all the work in the world. “There you are.” Patrick breathed. “How are you feeling?” 

 

“Mmpphh.” Pete tried to get words out but they were caught in the cotton that seemed to fill his mouth, and Patrick squeezed him softly. He rolled to the bedside, ignoring Pete’s noises of protest that he was gone, and came back with a half-empty water bottle.    
  


“Here.” He helped Pete lift his head and take a long sip, murmuring softly. When he was done, Patrick replaced the lid, throwing it off the bed carelessly and lay back down. “Try again, how are you feeling?” 

 

“Perfect.” Pete sighed, and he was sure the smile on his face probably was edging towards  _ dopey _ but didn’t care. “Amazing.” Nodding, seemingly satisfied with this response, Patrick pulled him close. Just before he surrendered to the waves of exhaustion lapping at him, Pete whispered, “Love you, ‘Trick,” and felt Patrick squeeze him, pressing a soft kiss into his scalp. 

 

“Love you, too.” Patrick sighed deep and contented, breathing out a quiet  _ forever  _ and Pete drifted warm and safe to sleep. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title slightly abridged from "Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year."


End file.
